


What it means to be alive

by Builder



Series: Missing Moments [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Gay Sex, He's not dead, M/M, NSFW, Steve's 95
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “Mm.”  Steve spits out the syllable to note that their transaction is finished.  He zips up and slips a couple Benjamins into the guy’s back pocket, gently, almost lovingly.





	What it means to be alive

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NSFW. If you can't buy your own beer, consider moving along to the next thing.  
> Find me on Tumblr @builder051

Not that much has changed, Steve thinks. You can still stand outside a gas station with a certain flip to your hair, a certain tuck to your shirt and have providence eventually walk up. He wears a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, but the rest of the outfit is made to stand out. His henley unbuttoned just so, the jeans tight in all the right places. 

“Hey.” A man in similar duds flips the remote over his shoulder and locks his truck, the headlights blinking with a sort of finality like a sign in the night. “You here to meet a friend?”

Steve looks him up and down. “Only if you are.”

They stay a respectable three feet apart as they walk around the corner of the dingy building. As soon as they’re out of the sight of the security cameras, though, the distance closes with the man’s hands on Steve’s ass and his hands on his belt. 

The darkness is good enough cover, but they still tread carefully, picking between trash bags and a few discarded cinderblocks. Steve’s done it before, but never in this decade. People are more accepting now, but this still counts as an act of disgrace. 

Steve’s been hard half the day, and it takes two pumps and a slap of lube for him to prepare, the same amount of time it takes the other guy to face the wall and drop his pants below his hips. Steve grinds his teeth to make himself stay quiet. A metallic taste grows at the back of his mouth, and he can’t quite tell if it’s real or imagined.

The other man plants both hands on the wall and grunts, though with pleasure or pain, Steve can’t tell. He intends to pay either way, but he hopes he isn’t hurting him. Steve’s used to being the one in the taking position rather than the giving. He’d switch halfway through if he thought the other guy wanted to, but he’s been at this game long enough to know that’s not how it works.

It takes all of two minutes for him to come. Steve does the courteous thing and pulls out, even though shared diseases are low on his list of concerns. He hasn’t had so much as a common cold since he came off the ice. 

The other guy spills an instant later, shaking seed off his fingers as he scrabbles at the brick in front of his nose. 

“Mm.” Steve spits out the syllable to note that their transaction is finished. He zips up and slips a couple Benjamins into the guy’s back pocket, gently, almost lovingly.

“Mm-hm.”

That’s it, Steve knows. Time for them to split and walk opposite ways around the building, pretending they haven’t just got to know each other in such an intimate, albeit anonymous, way.

The guy gets a few steps away when Steve throws caution to the wind. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Wait a second.”

“Huh?” The other guy turns around. 

Steve closes the gap between them. He whips off his hat and leans in with one fluid motion. He shuts his eyes and bumps his lips against the other man’s. He means it to be chaste, just a quick peck of affection. The other guy misinterprets, and before Steve can pull away, their tongues are entwined.

There’s an unsettling smack as they disconnect. Steve has more saliva than he started with, and he struggles to smile as the other man succeeds in walking away. He turns the corner just as Steve’s stomach jumps to his throat.

He manages to keep the vomit down until the truck revs. Headlights whip around in front of the building and disappear into the night. A wave of dizziness passes through Steve, and he bends at the waist to spray the ground with bile.

Steve sighs and spits. Then he straightens, gasping, and wipes his lips on the back of his hand. He still tastes the other man on him, notes of grease and chewing tobacco that he knows didn’t originate with him. 

He’s 200 bucks shorter and none the happier. It’s not the cash that bothers him; he’s got plenty of that. It’s the malaise coming over him that’s the problem. He isn’t sure if he feels sick with himself or just sick. 

Steve waits a moment. He means to wait until he feels better, but he doesn’t, so he sighs again and picks his way back around the building, back to his car, and back toward home.


End file.
